I would like, for a brief interlude, to turn my attentions from the external violence in which we so often here immerse ourselves to a more personal, private contemplation of individual import. This is a matter of seemingly little significance which, I believe, may have far reaching consequence for the society of men at large. This is a matter rarely discussed for it's percieved lack of weight, however, a knowledge of a man's choices in this minute regard of his daily life can inform you more of his character than any gross achievement, failure, or undertaking. Like the universe about us, this seemingly small decision has as much, if not greater, an impact as great spectacles of either man or nature.
I refer here, of course, to shaving.
Of course there is no argument as to the percieved pettiness of the subject. Shaving has been for some time little more than a chore, a necessary evil to be undertaken for to fit with the norms of common hygiene in as quick and simple a manner as possible, that we might continue our day with more purposeful activities.
This is the era of rush hour, freeways and carpools; of drive-through eateries, microwaved dinners and skipped breakfasts; of stylists instead of barbers, electric shavers and disposable triple-bladed razors.
Today is a day where ease is key, where while proper presentation is important, moreso that we are able to achieve such quickly in order to sooner return to work. In a day where it often becomes necessary to be working on your cell phone in traffic on the way to the office, who has time to perform a proper shave - especially when that activity, too, is performed in the car? What possible benefits could such an activity bestow upon a person, much less our high-speed, high-intensity society?
One of the answers is obvious: proper grooming has been a hallmark of desirability in all social fields for centuries. Even bearded men have, with little exception, been expected to keep their facial hair tamed and at a predetermined length. Even at the end of the 19th century, when long - and to our modern sensibilities, unruly - beards were fashionable (see Presidents Ruthorford B. Hayes and James A. Garfield, for instance), there were styling demands upon them that dictated length and shape. All of these dictates demand shaving.
What adherence to certain methods and modes of grooming can indicate, therefore, is a person's mentality, their philosophy or religion, their social status, and even their breeding and etiquette. Whether, what and when a man shaves bespeaks volumes of his character, and rightly so: it is as part of our social presentation that we undergo such grooming. But what of the how of his shave? How can something private, as the act of shaving so often is, create a meaningful effect in and upon society? If the goal is to create a certain appearance, what matter is it the manner in which the effect is achieved?
Herein I propone the practice of straight-razor shaving, a practice which has garnered an interesting reputation in the years since safety and ease overcame what was once a fine and delicate skill common to all groomed men. This reputation - namely, of the use of straight razors as a dangerous, difficult, and time-consuming method delivering the finest shave developed by man - serves both to portray the skill as an archaic and obsolete relic of simpler times as well as to elevate it as a sign of class and luxury that place it, in the communal mind of the common man, well above his reach and station.
That high things - difficult, dangerous, things, things of luxury and class, all such manner of noble things - should be seen as out of reach and above station is, more than any other thing, indicative of the malaise and rot that plagues our so-called modern society. It seems impossible to strive for greatness as a culture when we are not willing to put forth the effort needed to enjoy the best in our daily, personal lives.
There is no doubt that a straight razor is a dangerous implement. Five inches of blade, honed to a nearly microscopic edge, backed by nearly an inch of sturdy steel is perfectly capable of inflicting severe wounds - and when one willingly places this device upon their neck, it is well within the realm of possibility that these wounds could be lethal. Add upon the difficulty of mastering the blade the plethora of other skills necessary to the enjoyment of proper hygiene - honing and stropping the implement yourself, learning to lather and apply real shaving soap, a small understanding of dermatology necessary for to understand the hair and skin you treat - and we have an intimidating amount of knowledge to learn at the risk of almost certain discomfort and possible injury or death.
I argue that these are all good and desirable things.
To begin, I will address the immediate danger of the blade. Of itself, it is harmless. It is safely enclosed in its handle, it neither opens nor moves itself about. The realization of this is a thing which grants a man new insight into his own life, the realization that all tools, all weapons, all skills are merely objects or ideas, that they are worthless and meaningless without his action upon them. To take that razor in his hand and place it upon his neck, he places himself only in as much danger as he allows. Skill dictates whether he can move the blade in the correct way, at the correct angle. In the beginning, we are certain of the occassional nick or cut, which grants the short-term rewards of increasing comfort with increasing skill - nevermind that a stoic (and most important in this regard, unflinching) tolerance of discomfort is a valuable ability and a global signal of masculinity. Skill must be achieved by practice, by dedication to mastery, and what better motivation than the knowledge that a lack of skill in such a case could bring results as disastrous as an untrained driver or marksman?
But, some would say, why must this exercise of mastery over a dangerous implement and a dangerous environment be practiced with a blade upon our flesh? Are there not numerous other dangers to which we may expose ourselves daily, if the goal is to build character through adversity? What of driving and shooting, which you mention?
The reason for shaving as the ideal method is derived from it's privacy. This privacy, first and foremost, prevents the ungentlemanly endangerment of others. In any driving situation the risk of killing another due to a lack of aptitude is at least equal to the risk of killing yourself. In firearms, the risk of endangering another is almost invariably greater, as it takes a remarkable stupidity to unintentionally harm the self by way of a properly functioning bullet and piece, and even when shooting alone in a secluded area, bullets are capable of travelling extreme distances to fall upon more populated locales. Further, expertise in these fields is readily exhibited to society, and there are external influences to motivate the practice and proficiency of them. It can be said that driving or shooting in a responsible, skillful manner is often not motivated by a personal desire for excellence, but rather due to fear of appearing incompetent.
Shaving, on the other hand, takes place within the privacy of the home, within the bedroom or bath, and often without observation by even intimate cohabitants. It grants several minutes of quiet excercise and disciplined activity which is undertaken for no reason other than a personal desire to not only be socially presentable, true, but to do so in the most exacting manner - as it is shown that a straight razor, properly wielded, offers the closest and least irritating shave available. It is also worth noting that the few minutes of meditative activity afforded by the privacy and discipline of a proper shave help to calm and clear the mind, invigorating and honing it for excellence in the day's myriad endeavors.
In a way, the proper shave takes a place akin to meditation or prayer within a day. I do not mean public spectacles masquerading as meditation or prayer, of course, but that intimate piece of calm and reflection that so often accompanies ritual contemplation. In fact, it has many elements in common with such rituals - the shaver first bathes, either in whole or facially, then stands before the basin as an altar arrayed with his blade, his soap, his brush, his strop, and his water. The precise, repetitive act of stropping, the preparation of the brush and soap, careful creation and application of a fine lather, not to mention the practiced movements of the razor itself all have a refreshing, comfortable, yet vivid and intense effect on a person's mind. At the completion of a shave, after the final washing of the face and perhaps even the anointing with colognes we often find ourselves new men, baptised by steel into the mastery of our own small universes.
Then again, many of these contemplations are purely speculative, placed forward by myself as an admitted amateur psychologist and sociologist. To this end, I proffer a more physical, biological, mathematical advantage made by the straight razor upon the institution of our greater society. While my aforementioned conclusions are speculative, the danger posed by a razor in untrained hands is absolute and undeniable. What, then, would the consequence be if all of man woke to his toilet on the morrow to find that all of his modern, electrical or disposable facility were replaced by the blade and brush? Suppose further that to remain completely unshorn were not an option. Surely there would be those who, in their haste and arrogance, and failing to appreciate the nature of their activity, would perish before their basins by their own hands. Silly idealistic notions about the value of human life must be departed with here: what use is a man who cannot master a blade? What use is a man who imagines his endeavors so lofty as not to trouble himself with the very substance of his life and being? While we may mourn the loss of acquantances, those survivors would doubtless be of the magnitude of man who understands and appreciates his abilities, his tools, and his place in and effect upon the world. Doubtless that, even should such qualities not breed true, they would be bestowed upon the following generations as an acknowledged part of the proper rearing of boys into men. True, such a time already once was.
There was a time, and it ended not too long ago, when all shorn men had achieved mastery of these skills. In this time, every man started his day faced with danger, every man looked at the prospect of death in his own reflection and stoicly, skillfully defeated it for no reason other than to take pride in his own appearance. Men with great names marked the tail end of this era, men who were known for gallantry, dignity and valor: men like Ernest Hemingway, Theodore Roosevelt, and Manfred von Richthofen, better known as the Red Baron. While there were doubtless many factors that went into the production of such greatness, there is a stoutness of character that is granted by a daily brush with death. It is often said that the best meals are those taken after enduring a life-threatening situation. To survive by an act of will is a dose of Darwinism that brings out the best in a man - he knows that it is his skill and mastery of his body, the tools in his hands, and world about him that permits his existence. It imbues him with the confidence to face down adversity and the quiet contemplation to view the world in a more romantic light and with more passionate vigor. It is his daily proof that a thing worth doing, is worth doing well.
